The Price of Tea in China
by Reno Spiegel
Summary: Spike and Faye. A brokedown elevator. They say that freaks flock together.


**Author's Note**: Here's one for all you unashamed FayexSpike 'shippers, wherever you may be.

-

The Price of Tea in China

-

"Looks like someone beat us to the punch." He didn't sound all that concerned; then again, he never did. He began to leave in the same saunter he'd entered upon, but something stopped him.

It was the hand of his female counterpart; more accurately, the index finger held up. "Sure, but it doesn't look like the right person did the beating, Spike. Didn't Ed say we were here to cuff some big drug traffic leader?"

Spike looked pointedly at the **NO SMOKING** sign before lighting up, as always. Jet found the habit aggravating in public places, but Faye couldn't care less. She'd come for her damn money, and hell if she wasn't going to get it one way or another. "Yeah, so what? Bumble Simmons he calls himself. Adios, Bumble, let's go back to the hotel and get some beef. I'm gonna start digesting myself soon."

"Spike, this is a woman. And she's in our league."

Spike tried to count how many languages were telling him not to smoke, but Faye kept making him miss the numbers between twelve and seventeen, so he turned and logically rejoined the conversation. Indeed, there was a woman laying on that desk, and she didn't seem armed. Nor did she look like a Bumble Simmons. With that in mind, his quick-fix transgender idea was put on hold. "How do you know that? You know the broad or something?"

Faye growled, crossing her arms, gun still clenched in her hand. "Spike, she's holding a gun!" They were in a ten-story office building in T.J., where the food was as excellent as last time Spike had been there. But nonetheless, he was getting pretty damn hot and he just wanted to go back to the hotel.

Bumble Simmons was a shady character who ran this phone company as a front for drug traffic. When the phone books were shipped out, he made sure to sneak out the night before with a hollowed-out and drug-loaded book for each of his favorite customers. Last time he'd mixed up the books and there was a bounty on the down low for him.

"Okay," said Spike. "So adios, What's-Her-Face, let's go get some grub."

His counterpart wasn't as satisfied with that, though, and so she walked over to the woman. Gun or not, she'd been the one gunned down, as said the splatters on the wall and the holes in her chest. Without the blood, she would have looked decent; pretty brunette thing with a "faint hourglass quality," as Spike had described someone once. Faye dug through her pockets as Spike put his smoke out on Bumble's desk. As soon as she came up with something, it was snatched away from her.

"Alice Vis. . .Vis-lo-vah." The green-haired man squinted. "What the hell kinda name is that?"

Faye took the ID back and looked it over. "Alice Vislova. Poor woman, using that na --"

"How did you pronounce that?" He looked nearly astounded.

"Al-_eece_ _Vees_-lo-vah."

"Al-_eece_ _Vees_-lo-v --"

She shook her head. "Roll the L."

"Do what?"

"Roll your L, lunkhead!"

"How the hell do you roll a letter?"

"Augh!" Faye always hated going out on a job with him. "Nevermind. Anyway, it's a Russian name; hell, people thought it was mine for a while. Alice Vislova -- for God's sake, Spike, stop trying to do that -- Alice Vislova was Poker Alice's real name."

Spike shrugged. "Poker Alice or not, let's blow this pop stand. An enchilada sounds damned tasty right now."

His purple-haired partner gave him the most puzzled look in history and pocketed the ID. Standing up, she shook her head in amazement and followed him to the elevator. ""Let's blow this pop stand?" What the hell's that supposed mean?" she asked as he hit the 'Down' button.

As the doors closed, he replied, "Well, what the hell does "rolling a letter" mean?"

"God, you're hopeless. You do know that, don't you?"

"Look," he said, holding his hands up. "Just beause my logic is far more right than yours doesn't mean you have to freak out and get all pissy with me."

"What logic?!" she screamed.

He was silent for a long moment, then said, "That woman was Bumble Simmons, y'know."

"You are such a moron!"

". . ." He lit another cigarette. ". . .Shrew."

"Lunkhead."

"Gypsy!"

"Bumpkin!"

Jerk!

It should be emphasized that this was not Spike calling Faye a jerk, nor was it the opposite; still incorrect was the suspicion they both said it. This was, in fact, the jerking of an abruptly-stopping elevator, followed by the clicking of the light turning off.

Spike was amused by the fact the woman who had just called him a moron momentarily latched to his arm and then let go again. He heard her pick up the emergency phone, but that was dead. A moment later, the emergency light came on, but it was horribly dim and made him dizzy for a moment.

For about five minutes, nothing seemed to be the right thing to say. Then. . .

"Al-_eece_ _Vees_-lo. . ._Vees_-lo. . .L --"

"Shut the hell up! It's an Earth thing, okay?!"

---

Almost an hour later, after some tense conversation, Faye popped a deck of cards out of her pocket, which Spike didn't even know existed, along with a crumpled tophat. When he suggested strip poker, she threw a joker at him and cut his arm, which shut him up promptly. "I'm just passing the time. If you're too bored, pry open those doors, squeeze out the bottom, and see if you can find help." She tossed the hat across the small elevator, sat down, and began flipping cards.

Spike sat down with a smirk; he figured she thought he might actually jump, and he was right. "Sounds fun, but I've got a cramp."

He lit his cigarette again and stared into the light for a moment before realizing that throbbing feeling in his temples was returning and it was that thing's fault. "Alright," he said when she'd thrown all fifty-two cards into the hat. "The elevator further malfunctions. We're dropping to our deaths. You've got thirty seconds to tell me your dying words. Go."

The violent-haired woman blinked at him for a moment, then shook her head. "I inform you that you were the worst thing that ever happened to me and then sock you unconscious." She nodded as if to reassure herself of her dying wish. "Yeah, that about sums it up."

"Y'know," he said around his cigarette. "If I'm the worst thing to ever happen to you, why do you always come back?"

Faye laughed. "You're not the worst thing that's ever happened to me. That would be my debt. But even you would feel guilty if my dying words were, "Spike, you're a prick. Just wanted you to know that." Even you know that's an unsettling thing."

The other had a mind that had stopped earlier in that train of thought. "Just how much do you owe people, Faye?"

"You want me to add all that up?" she asked, incredulous.

He shrugged and blew a smoke ring. "Rough estimate. Better yet, something you could buy with it."

Faye did a mental tally while gathering her cards back from the hat and its surroundings. She took into account how much she owed that cryogenic company, the casino owner, all those car dealerships, the repeated IOUs to executives she'd let peek down her top and came up with a rough sum. ". . .China." She pondered this for a moment, and then nodded. "Yeah, China."

"And how the hell did you manage to accumulate this massive debt, may I ask?" He'd read about China in school. Something about female discrimination and the like. Yeah, he dozed off a lot in Geography. Mars didn't exactly have the most enthralling amount of history. 'A country called America colonized us twenty years ago. This will be on the test. Mr. Spiegel, what are you doing?'

He'd gotten a letter from that teacher saying her alcoholism was his fault. He was touched in his own way.

"Any man can be wooed when faced with the right things, and men with money and power always seem to look for the things I have." She pitched the three of clubs into the hat flawlessly, with a small smirk. "As well as a few select women."

Spike squinted for a moment, seeming deathly interested in the silver wall of the elevator. Faye had just admitted to being at least a partial whore and he didn't even care; imagine that. "They're not that great."

It was fun to watch her throw curve off to the side and lodge the king of hearts into his hair. She wasn't quite sure whether she felt insulted or just confused. "Pardon?" she spluttered, readying another card as to appear completely comfortable with the situation.

"You heard me." He took a long pull on his cigarette. The dim light was beginning to feel bearable with the cloud over their heads. "I mean. . .I do the laundry sometimes, Faye. So far I haven't seen a single --"

She grunted loudly. "Alright, alright. You have to admit the benefits they come with, though." She felt oddly at ease having a conversation like this with him. "You probably couldn't get near as much as I have on features alone."

"I'm not saying that," he admitted, holding his hands up and incidentally ashing into his lap. "I'm just saying that you couldn't get near as much if you wore a sweater and jeans."

Faye wasn't going to let him have the last laugh. "Hypothetically, you're a big businessman. I walk into your office, dressed in this. We've never met, and I say I'll give you whatever for whatever I want. What do you do?" Two spades picked up the king's slack.

Spike grinned widely. "Ask how you got past the guys with rifles and the guard dogs I most certainly have purchased by this time, then exterminate you with the laser sunglasses I am also certainly wearing. I then deposit your remains off of the planet via a hyperhydraulic panel in front of my desk and wait for my next appointment."

"You are absolutely no fun." She scoffed. "C'mon, be serious. It's not like there's anything else to do in here." She tossed three aces. Obviously hadn't shuffled the deck since her last casino job.

All of those late-night tittie flicks came back from his childhood and he laughed so suddenly that his cigarette flew across the elevator. "Alright, alright. As a normal, sex-deprived businessman," he said, picking up the little left of his smoke, "I take you up on your offer, we have a wild romp on my desk, and I get screwed over for millions of woolongs, right? But as myself, Spike. . .I dunno, Faye, you're just not doing much for me."

He wasn't exactly sure when the smoke had started getting to him, but he blamed his severely slow reaction time on that. His head thudded on the floor of their elevator car and when he vision stopped swimming, he was very aware of a pair of knees digging into his hips and far too much purple in his line of vision. "Anything for you yet, Spike?" That voice wasn't supposed to be that seductive; she was supposed to be bitter and sarcastic.

He said the first thing that popped to mind. "Twenty-five says I kiss better."

"Prove it," she huffed.

He did.

---

Jet had been waiting for them when the elevator finally came down, and they headed back to their three-room suite. He felt something odd between the two, but decided not to question it. There was always something going on between those two. But still, something was more off than usual. 

"Faye-Faye! Spike-person! Your bountyhead ran faaaaaar awaaaaay! Big Shot says he went bye-bye for good. Sayonara, asta lavista, see ya later, and all that good stuff!" Ed had come along, too. She decided she'd get her own souvenirs this time.

Ein was smart; he was laying in the bathtub when they got back, and relishing in the momentary cool feeling.

That was before Faye picked him up and nearly rolled him out the door.

He would make sure to shit in Spike's bed. That guy would subtly teach her to ruin a perfectly good nap. In fact, he thought, he'd go do that right now.

When Spike returned from getting his candy bar in the lobby, he was definitely cranky. His slitted eyes darted around once he was in the room and finally landed on Jet. "Faye. . .is she in the shower?" He received a dumb nod, and then turned and let himself into the bathroom. One flush of the toilet later, he seemed much more satisfied and endured the scream.

As Spike disappeared into his room muttering happily about twenty-five woolongs, Jet made a small 'hmph' noise and went back to his crossword. Suddenly, his feeling was gone.

"**JET! EDWARD! OTHER WOMAN! WHY THE HELL IS THERE DOG SHIT IN MY BED?!"**

Yep. Everything was fine again. "Good boy," he said, and a small piece of enchilada arced across the room.

-

**LOVE IN AN ELEVATOR...**


End file.
